The Confessions of Kitty (Who Just Stands There)
by Olhado
Summary: Bwa hah. Chapter seven up and . . . horrifying revelations and stuff. Ooooooh.
1. Kitty Waits for Light

I haven't a clue what I'm doing here, but maybe, by some happy chance, this will actually make  
sense.  
  
Eh heh heh heh heh heh.  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Li-ike, my name is Kitty and I really shouldn't be using the word Li-ike because . . . well, think  
about it. You saw "Li-ike" starting this sentence and you immediately rolled your eyes and  
thought "Oh great, it's one of THOSE fics." Yeah, well, maybe I don't know what "one of  
THOSE fics" are, but I can tell you that this is not Kurtty, it is not Latte (or Lancitty, but I think  
Latte sounds better, so there), it's just me. Kitty. And I might occasionally use the word "like,"  
but it doesn't mean I'm an idiot and it doesn't mean that I can't exist without a male co-star.  
  
We all got that?  
  
Good, so, let's get started.  
  
  
  
  
I was sitting with the X-men at lunch today, you know? I still do that sometimes, although I  
generally eat lunch with my "normal" friends. I like the X-men and all, but like, I live with them  
and I don't want to be totally isolated in my mutantness, right?  
  
But I was sitting with them today because I felt like it and because I wanted to talk to Jean about  
something. I hadn't performed all that well in a Danger Room session because school's been  
wearing me down and I guess I didn't care all that much. Scott was kinda annoyed with me and I  
didn't really want to talk to him directly, but I thought if maybe I explained what I was feeling to  
Jean, he'd hear it too and maybe he'd understand. And Jean's always sympathetic, I mean,  
sometimes she's annoyingly sympathetic, but at least she tries.  
  
So, anyway, I was talking to Jean and Kurt and Scott seemed to be listening a little. But I was  
getting distracted because Kurt kept turning his image inducer off . . . then on again after a few  
minutes. He is so neurotic about that, you know? Everyone knows what he looks like now and  
he keeps telling everyone that he's not going to wear his inducer any more, but he's like addicted  
to it or something. He'll turn it off, until he thinks people are really looking at him and then he'll  
get nervous and turn it back on. It's like picking your nose in public or something. But gosh, it's  
annoying. I just wanted him to do one or the other because I was trying to talk to Jean and I kept  
getting stuck mid sentence.  
  
I hate that.  
  
I was just about to snap at Kurt when Duncan Matthews came over, with a smug expression all  
over his face. A couple of his dull-eyed cronies were trailing him. I glanced over at Scott, and  
his eyebrows were down, and his arms were folded, but I didn't think he'd start a fight or  
anything. Kurt turned his image inducer on quickly (I mean, not as if it mattered) and Jean  
shifted her chair to one side. This all happened in a matter of seconds and we were ready. It was  
so cool.  
  
Well, actually, I wasn't ready, because I was too busy watching everyone else, but like, there  
wasn't much I could do anyway.  
  
Duncan walked right up to the table, grinning now, as if he had some really brilliant joke in  
mind, which I kinda doubted. He leaned forward and pressed the fleshy part of his palms against  
that table, looking right at Scott. "So, Summers. What's it like now that everyone knows you're  
a freak, huh?" His cronies giggled.  
  
This was becoming such a ritual. I mean, I didn't sit with the X-men all that much, but it still  
seemed that every time I did, Duncan showed up to do his thing. Scott didn't so much as flinch.   
Two months of mutant exposure and Duncan still couldn't dredge up a creative insult. Fact, this  
insult sounded remarkably like the last dozen or something.  
  
Scott didn't move. He went almost expressionless behind those glasses, "Matthews, I can't  
possibly describe to you what it's like . . . " He paused, " . . . because I think your vocabulary  
isn't quite advanced enough."  
  
Jean laughed, a remarkably malicious sound from one who was usually so softly-treading-on-  
people. Duncan, who probably wouldn't have gotten the joke if Jean hadn't laughed, suddenly  
reddened. The next moment, he launched himself over the table, his fist rocketing for Scott's  
jaw . . . 


	2. Kitty Doesn't Get Any Light. Bummer.

The next moment, there was a loud clap of vacated air and a hot wave of sulfur blew into my  
face. Make that everyone's faces. Most of us were coughing and sliding back in our chairs to get  
some fresh air and by the time Kurt's leavings cleared, Duncan's cronies had realized they were  
missing a Duncan. A muffled bang shot out from under the table. I took a half glance down . . .  
Kurt was pressed up against the floor, image inducer off, tail twitching. I didn't, like, want to  
call attention to him, so I kept my eyes on the cronies instead. They were just staring blankly at  
the space Duncan had occupied. A little slow on the uptake.  
  
Scott stood up, brushing the front of his shirt (although, he like, didn't need to it wasn't dirty),  
"Why don't you guys find Duncan, huh?"  
  
Crony one shrugged and made as if to leave, but Crony two had finally figured it out. I thought  
Duncan had been red before, but this guy was like some over-ripe tomato. He roared and  
launched himself over the table. Which wasn't, like, terribly original of him. Jean caught him  
with her TK and flung him . . . I mean, flung him! . . . into an empty cafeteria table. Crony one  
got the hint and ran. Crony two slowly pulled himself up from the tangle of table and chair legs .  
. . and he ran as well.  
  
It was really cool, but I knew we were so gonna get in trouble.  
  
"We're so gonna get in trouble," I said as Kurt slipped back into his seat and Scott sat down. "I  
mean, you know what Principal Kelly said about using our powers. We'll be suspended. The  
Professor . . ."  
  
"So vhat?" Kurt muttered, his tail twitching spasmodically now, "Who cares vhat anyvun does  
about it? Ve've done nothink for two months and still he comes. Still he tries to start fights.   
I've had enough. He could haf caused an accident, comink at Scott like that."  
  
"Yeah," Jean spat, and glowered at some point on the floor tiles. She was really mad, I could tell  
that.  
  
"You both should have let me handle it," Scott said quietly. He was really mad, too. Just not  
slam-the-next-guy-into-a-locker mad. He only got that kinda mad with Lance, you know? "Just  
because we're exposed doesn't mean we should . . . you should have let me handle it. I know  
how to deal with Duncan."  
  
Principal Kelly was coming across the cafeteria and I suspect he'd have looked madder than Jean  
and Scott if he didn't have such a scared kind of face. It kinda made me sad, you know, that we  
scared him. And I dunno, Kurt teleporting Duncan out, that was okay with me, but Jean's throw  
was like, clearing the cafeteria. People were leaving, keeping this really wide berth of our table,  
and Principal Kelly was coming and we were in so much trouble.  
  
"Where's Duncan?" I heard Scott whisper to Kurt as Kelly got closer.  
  
"Forge's basement," Kurt hissed back and Kelly was on us.  
  
He was fidgeting with his necktie, "Listen, you . . . you . . . you must understand how much of a  
risk it is to have you . . . you here. And this behavior is completely unacceptable. Completely.   
If it wasn't for . . . wasn't for Xavier's generous funding for the school, I'd . . . I'd be strongly  
tempted to have you all expelled. I probably should have you all expelled. These . . . the other  
students can't defend themselves against you. You've . . . you've not caused too much trouble  
before," his expression darkened, "but it's easy for you to cause trouble, apparently. I need . . . I  
need your promise to abide by the school rules, or you will be expelled, or at least . . . at least  
suspended. And, for the moment, you must apologize to the two young men you hurt. And . . ."   
He glanced nervously at Kurt, "I'd ask . . . I'd ask that you please not . . . show yourself like that.   
Maybe . . . maybe I can't make you, but I've been receiving complaints from the general student  
body that you're . . . you're a distraction. This isn't any sort of . . . of slur against your  
appearance, but it's a . . . a distraction and this is a place for learning. I'd thank you . . . thank  
you . . . to comply with my requests." Then he withdrew, his step jerky. I sighed with relief,  
until I'd realized why we'd been let off.  
  
"Gosh," I said, "Gosh. He really doesn't know what to do with us, does he? I mean, I think he's  
afraid . . ." I had, like an epiphany, and my eyes widened, "I think he's afraid that if he punishes  
us, we'll come and trash him or the school or something. Wow. You know, I don't think I like  
this."  
  
Kurt turned on his image inducer and left without a word. Scott put his head in his hands and  
wouldn't look at me. Jean didn't seem to hear a word I said. The space around her with  
practically ionized, and this sounds crazy, with rage. She left too, by the outside door.  
  
I suddenly felt very alone. 


	3. In Which Things Get More Interesting.

Author's Warning: Two Mary Sues are introduced at this point. But Olhado promises not to let  
them take over the story. This is Kitty's story . . . Ki-i-i-tty's Story.  
  
"No, trust me, Arcade, I won't hurt you." Arcade's a little weird at the best of times, but he likes  
to be in control, you know? He kinda wishes the world was a really big video game where he's  
gripping the joystick. I think that's why he liked playing with the mansion . . . and with us . . . so  
much. I think, even in everyday life, he wishes he had a few lasers and iron doors to use on  
people to make them do what he wants.  
  
Like I said, he's pretty weird. But I like him, most of the time. He was a little freaked out when  
he learned, after the broadcast and all, that that game of his was pretty real, but he's been cool  
with it. You know, after we learned we didn't use our powers on people. (He's kind of a  
hypocrite that way.)  
  
But he saw Jean do her throw thing and so I guess he thought that our "safeties" were off and  
we're free to fire at will. (He really does think of everything in video game terms.)  
  
"That's easy to say," He stuttered, as he edged further between the dumpster and the side of the  
school. "That's really easy to say. Jean says it all the time!"  
  
"Arcade!" I snorted and phased through the dumpster, ending up right next to blasted Arcade.   
He shrieked and started to edge away.  
  
"Arcade, look. This is all I do. I can walk through you, but I can't hurt you, remember? Unless I  
use karate, and that has nothing to do with being a mutant, right?"  
  
"You could phase through my computers and wreck them," he howled, skittering away  
practically in a crab walk.  
  
"Oh gosh, why would I do that? You're ridiculous. Look, just get back . . ." He finally got out  
in the open and started running, quickly out of earshot. What an idiot. Oh well, he'd probably  
want to be my buddy again when I got the newest Waste-em cartridge. Arcade was a fickle  
fellow when it came to electronics.  
  
It still, like, bugged me though. It was really hard to just be friendly with anyone anymore.   
Especially today. I mean, usually, random people just didn't talk to me, but today, they were all,  
like, clinging to the other side of the hall just to stay away from me. And I hadn't exactly done  
anything, you know? It really wasn't fair and I was getting peevish about the whole thing. I  
don't do well in isolation.   
  
"Kitty!" I recognized the voice. And my eyes narrowed a little, I mean, what right did ihe/i  
have to be calling me out. But I came out from behind the dumpster anyway. Lance was  
loitering a few meters away, his arms slack behind his sides, and he was slouching, as usual.   
  
"So, like, what do you want?" I challenged. Lance and I haven't been on the best of terms after  
Mystique blew up the mansion. Besides, the Brotherhood suddenly got a lot of new mutants in  
their ranks and one of them Lance took a fancy to. You know what I mean. Someone more his  
type, so I mean, I'm like yesterday's news or something. Not that I'm jealous.  
  
Lance swore, "Are you X-geeks crackin' or somethin'? Pullin' stunts like you did at lunchtime?   
Look, maybe you have a Professor to cover for you, bribe the school board, but if we get kicked  
out of school, we're kicked out of school. That's that. You go tell Summers to keep a tighter  
'andle on things, for all our sakes."  
  
"Aw, whatever, Lance," I shot back, angsting for a bit of a fight, "You and your Brotherhood  
cause more trouble than . . . I mean, like, why don't you keep an eye on iyour/i kids?   
Especially those new ones, huh?"  
  
"Lance." A darkly scratchy voice slipped from behind that Lance, and so did Hargeis, Lance's  
new . . . like, love interest. She eyed me predatorily, her twisted mouth opening a little as if she  
was thinking of tearing my throat out, "What's this?"  
  
"Nothing," Lance snarled, "Just warning the snip to stay out of our way, is all."  
  
"Good," Hargeis smiled as I flushed . . . and I was mad. Very mad. Like, fist clenching mad.   
  
"You . . ." I was about to tell her and Lance and whoever happened to be in the general area  
what I thought about two faced, tough making, evil evil evil delinquents, but Hargeis had already  
turned her back to me. An effective dismissal that shut me up.  
  
That ability to, like, make anyone feel worthless like that had to be her mutant power.  
  
"Lance," Hargeis said in an undertone (although I was close enough to hear), "Rafael got beat up  
again in the halls. I stepped in, like a good mutant, but you have to teach that wuss how to . . ."   
She glanced idly over her shoulder at me, as if I were some sort of cockroach, filthy, but beneath  
her interest, "Why don't we discuss this somewhere else?" And she sauntered off with him,  
leaving my face redder than ever and half ready to cry.  
  
I decided it was time to go home. 


	4. In Which Professor X Leaves a Plot Void

"What're you doin' home so early?" Rogue put down her book (Anne Rice, looked like figures)  
and stretched, her bare feet touching the end of her bed. She'd been sick the past couple of days,  
you know, so she hadn't been at school.  
  
"Not feeling well," I half-lied, dumping my backpack on the floor and sprawling on top of my  
sheets. She didn't respond although, I mean, I'll admit that I can't disguise the emotions in my  
voice very well. But Rogue doesn't probe much. She went back to her book and I stared at the  
ceiling, trying to pick out patterns. There a face, there a finger, there a dragon or something.  
Speaking of dragons . . .   
  
I pulled a stuffed dragon out from under my back and held it to my chest. It wasn't my old  
dragon, which had been lost (along with just about everything) when the mansion exploded. The  
polyster skin was still glossy and cold, the plush filling still a little hard, a little unyielding. It  
had taken years for my old dragon to acquire the soft, comfortable, threadbare quality that had  
made it mine. I sighed, trying to let a little of the hurt out . . . but it came right back and settled  
in my gut.   
  
I wanted things back to how they had been . . . in the past, before we were mutants and freaks and  
creatures to be feared. Before we had to rebuild the mansion from scratch. Before everyone had  
quickly, in a matter of seconds, lost whatever social status they had . . . not to mention all  
peripheral friends. Before the Brotherhood had started to really hate us and we them. Before I  
lost Lance, not only to Hargeis, but to that hard bitterness that Mystique had re-imposed upon his  
group.  
  
It wasn't fair. We'd almost got it. I really think, that if Magneto and Mystique and Trask and his  
blasted Sentinels had stayed away, we would have figured out how to be out in the open and be  
accepted for it. I really think it might have worked. We could have merged with the  
Brotherhood, or at least given them a decent place to live, we could have slowly told our friends  
and maybe, eventually, everyone might know and not care. It'd be like having athlete's foot or  
being a secret nerd. An idiosyncrasy, but nothing more.  
  
They wouldn't have to know how destructive we could be.  
  
I'm not much of a villain. I'm not really much of a hero either. I'm a social kind of girl, a filler  
who maybe acts as public relations, maybe kicks a few tails here and there, maybe does some  
computer analysis, but mostly just lives. I can't handle the hard edged, fight or flight, world I've  
been thrust in. I don't like conflict and I don't like fighting.   
  
But I suspect it's just going to get harder.  
  
"So . . . I guess the Professor hasn't told ya yet."  
  
I glanced over at Rogue, who, for all she was talking, appeared to be still reading her book.   
"Told me what?"  
  
"That he's leaving again. Apparently there's some kind of regional convention on what to do . . .  
about us, and he needs to be there."  
  
"Oh. Well. Yeah, I guess he does." I didn't like it, though. For some reason, whenever the  
Professor wasn't with us, bad things happened.   
  
"It's only for a night."  
  
"Let me guess it's tonight."  
  
"Yeah, he didn't wanna worry us." Rogue shut her book and swung her legs over the side of the  
bed, "He never does. Sometahmes I kinda wish he would, though."  
  
"Yeah. Maybe we could have made plans for another party,"I said, joking of course.  
  
"No one would have come, anyway." Rogue was good at squelching jokes, of course.  
  
"Yeah, like, I know. Doesn't matter. Who needs friends, right?"  
  
"Rahght."  
  
"Rogue, I'm scared." It popped out before I had a chance to censor it.  
  
"Scared in general or scared 'cause the Professor's goin'?"  
  
"Both, I guess."  
  
"Good. We all need to be alert. 'Cause ya know as well as Ah do that Mystique's been lookin'  
for an openin' and she'll use it," Rogue was suddenly all business as if she'd been taking lessons  
from Scott, "We gotta consider the mansion under hahgh security. And maybe Jean better handle  
Cerebro if the Prof lets her 'cause if the Brotherhood don' attack here, they'll attack somewhere  
else . . ."  
  
I sat up, swinging my legs over the side, "Whoa . . . whoa, Rogue. I mean, how do we know the  
Brotherhood will do anything? Lance told me off today because . . . because, well, there was a  
little X-men power flinging at lunch . . ."  
  
Rogue's jaw dropped, "Yer kiddin'. After two months, you blow the lid lahke that?"  
  
"Not me," I snapped, "Kurt and Jean. Keeping Duncan and his idiots away from Scott. It was  
perfectly justified. But if the Brotherhood is telling ius/i to keep quiet, I dunno, maybe  
they're gonna . . ."  
  
"They ain't gonna keep quiet," Rogue said darkly, "They ain't gonna keep quiet. Maybe no  
human's gonna see 'em, but we're gonna and we've gotta. They've still got Wanda, and they got  
a lot of new kids we don' know hardly nothin' about. They could trash half the town before the  
first sirens call out and we'd never know it unless we were watchin'."  
  
"Most of those new kids aren't even trained," I protested, "and I think most of them are pretty  
young, pre high school."  
  
"Except Hargeis and Rafael," Rogue countered.  
  
"Forget Rafael. I overheard Hargeis telling Lance he kept getting beat up."  
  
"That mahght be just because he ain't usin' his powers, like a smart kid. And you ain't seen him.   
I have. He's little, smaller than Kurt. But you and Ah both know that Kurt's not very  
intimidatin' at school, but when he's gotta fight, he fights, and he ain't hardly a wimp."  
  
"But you don't iknow/i that about Rafael." I wasn't really arguing now, I was fighting the  
reality of what she was saying. See, I wanted her to be wrong. The idea of having to go out and  
spar with the Brotherhood and in all liklihood cause a mess and get hurt and yadda yadda didn't  
appeal to me at all. I wanted to stay home and veg in front of the television, gosh, even do  
homework.   
  
"Ah don't iknow/i about anyone, and that ain't good at all. And even if Rafael is a  
pushover, Hargeis at least looks tough and we all know that Wanda can take us all out if she feels  
lahke it."  
  
I leaned back on the covers in exasperation, covering my eyes, "Then let's just stay home. Even  
if they do pull something, and I'm not saying they will, they're stronger than us now and we  
don't know how to fight them. And if we do fight them . . . well, you know how messy it gets.   
Let them go bust some place quietly, do whatever, and maybe no one will notice."  
  
But even I knew that if the Brotherhood did anything more than eat out at McDonalds, we'd be  
out there to stop them. Because Scott, at least, had something to prove. Because we all did. We  
had to prove, if only to ourselves, that there was a reason we had our powers. That there was a  
reason we were mutants hated mutants, at that. We had to protect humanity, because otherwise  
there was no reason for our existence.  
  
We weren't saving the world, we were saving ourselves. 


	5. Finally, some action!

It was nine o'clock PM and I was seriously thinking of taking a nice long bath. With the door  
locked. With the radio on.  
  
Oh yeah, I knew I was supposed to be as tense and apprehensive as everyone else. The Professor  
was gone. The Brotherhood could possibly strike if they felt like it. The would could end. But,  
even though Jean was glued to Cerebro, even though Scott was pacing the kitchen, gnawing a roll  
and forming battle plans in his head, even though Kurt was doing gymnastics in the dining room  
(and occasionally breaking something), it was nine o' clock and nothing had happened.  
  
The only reason I wasn't taking a bath was because I was certain that if I did, Jean would  
suddenly call out an alarm and everyone would get all suited up and I'd have to run out to battle  
in a towel.  
  
Spyke wandered into the kitchen (dodging Scott, who was oblivious), opened the refrigerator,  
and started pouring a gallon of milk down his throat. I was sure he'd have to relieve himself  
right in the middle of combat, should combat happen. And it'd serve him right, I mean,  
moderation is sometimes a good thing, you know?  
  
The second hand of the clock crept at a terribly slow pace to fifteen after. I stifled a yawn and  
decided that, Brotherhood or no Brotherhood, I was having my bath.  
  
Of course, at that moment, Jean ran into the kitchen, her usually perfect hair badly tousled. "We  
need to go. Now. The Brotherhood are in the school and they're using their powers. I'm afraid  
it's going to be a repeat of last time . . ."  
  
But even as everyone rushed to get spandexed, I paused, resting my hand on the counter (because  
it was there). Something wasn't right about this. I mean, I'm sure Scott suspected it too (he  
knows everything, you know), but he'd go through with the battle anyway. Proving stuff and all.   
  
But why on earth would the Brotherhood destroy (or mutilate or whatever) the school? It didn't  
make sense. They wouldn't get any money out of it and it'd just call a huge amount of attention  
to them and us and whatever other weirdos might be out there.  
  
Unless they weren't destroying the school. Unless they were just trying to get our attention.  
  
Unless it was a trap.  
  
Of course, I amended, as I finally followed the other X-men, they could just have snuck into the  
gym to play basketball . . . . . in which case we'd look really really stupid. 


	6. AAAAUGH! ANGST! HORROR!

We searched the halls, the gym, any open classrooms . . . everywhere. No Brotherhood. No  
earthquakes or breaking glass, no damaged light fixtures. No debris, no sound. I know I was  
convinced that either Jean was mistaken (it could happen, even with Jean) or the Brotherhood had  
something very scary in store. Maybe it was just the fact it was so dark and deserted. It felt like a  
slasher movie and I was just waiting for someone to jump out at me.  
  
Finally, we reached the auditorium--and it became all too obvious where the Brotherhood, if they  
were here at all. The stage curtain was up, sure, but the black background curtains were all  
down, all of them. And they made quite a maze. Even Freddy could be easily concealed.   
  
"They're in there," Scott said quietly, finally voicing what we all thought. "But let's go slowly.   
No shooting, no noise. We don't want to leave a lot of shredded cloth and props for the drama  
kids to find and we don't want any neighbors calling the cops. Go slowly and try not to look like  
you're angsting for a fight. We need to handle this without violence, if at all possible."  
  
But I saw the slightest of trembles in Scott's usually upright, straight-as-a-board posture. I saw  
his fists briefly clench, then relax. Scott's not a violent kid. Not at all. But I think something in  
him was deeply wounded that day we lost the mansion . . . perhaps even further back when we  
faced off Wanda. Maybe he thinks we don't trust him like we used to. Maybe we don't. Maybe,  
on some subconscious level, we did expect too much of him and maybe the reason why we, or at  
least, I, just don't see him as we used to is because he'd never . . . failed us before. Shallow, isn't  
it? Even though it's probably as much my fault as Scott's, I keep thinking that he broke our "track  
record" and now we'll never win again. A loser is bound to keep losing.  
  
So even as I saw the flicker of violence in Scott, I felt it in myself. Maybe we really were too  
used to winning. You know, we haven't really won since. Not without losses and not without  
that niggling sense of incompletion. I think we all wanted this battle. We wanted to win and we  
wanted to win hard. We wanted to see the Brotherhood retreat in shame for how easily we'd  
beaten them. We wanted it to be like it was before.  
  
Maybe, then, we could be friends again. But I think only I wanted that last one.  
  
We approached the stage cautiously, in staggered groupings. Scott and Jean were in the front  
(first line, offensive powers), Rogue and Evan in the middle (offensive, but very short range in  
Rogue's case and bound to cause a lot of damage in Evan's) and me and Kurt in the back  
(defensive, largely useless for beating people up).   
  
Scott was first on the stage, Jean seconds behind. "We know you're in here," he hissed, taking a  
couple toward the first of the curtains, "but we're not here to fight. Just come out or tell us what  
you're doing or whatever." The stage remained silent. Slowly, the rest of us climbed the stairs,  
until we were all there, no longer in strategic formation, but in a huddled clump. Scott didn't even  
notice for a moment. Then he coughed into the back of his hand and raised his eyebrows. We  
shuffled back into our former lines, a little embarressed, and walked very carefully toward the  
center of the stage.  
  
I tried to get a decent glimpse behind a couple of the closer curtains, but they weren't just flatly  
deployed--they were crumpled together, rather, and you'd have to pull the sides of the cloth apart  
to see what was inside. Which seemed pretty risky to me.  
  
And I hated the suspence. I really wished the Brotherhood would just get on with it.  
  
Evan whispered to Rogue, so low that I could hardly hear, that he needed to go to the bathroom.   
The look she gave him nearly sent me into hysterics.  
  
Then Kurt screamed and I didn't feel much like laughing any more.  
  
When I say "screamed" I mean "screamed" and not the Toad kind either. I whirled around in a  
crouch, ready to thrash whoever, even Wanda!, but I admit . . . . I didn't know what to do when  
my eyes adjusted enough to actually let me see what was going on.  
  
Hargeis stood over a gasping and twitching Kurt, smiling at me. Come on, her eyes challenged,  
try your luck.  
  
I should have kicked her or something, but I didn't know what she had done! I mean, she could  
have fried Kurt's innards for all I knew and I was . . . . well, I was too scared to act. She  
approached me leisurely, her hand out . . . and a red shaft of light cut across my vision.   
  
For a split second, I felt relief . . . but Scott's blast did a tight curve in on itself and hurtled back at  
him. It smashed him in the chest, knocking him several feet, into another curtain. Wanda  
emerged from the shadows just behind Hargeis. She didn't smile, but, then again, she doesn't. I  
didn't have much time to think more about Wanda, because Hargeis' hand was coming right at me.  
  
I phased and her hand passed through me. I'd like to say it passed harmlessly, but a ferocious  
shudder immediately convulsed my body and I had to fight to remain upright, let alone immaterial.   
I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on keeping my rebelling muscles and stomach from doing  
embarressing (and, in the situation, dangerous) things. I finally felt normal enough to open my  
eyes, and when I did, both Wanda and Hargeis had moved on. Evan was already on the ground,  
twitching as Kurt had a moment earlier. Kurt, meanwhile, had stilled . . . he didn't look dead,  
exactly, but he didn't look as if he was getting up any time soon.  
  
Maybe I'm a coward for it, but I really wanted to phase right through as many walls as I had to  
until I emerged into the nice safe open. A nice safe open where I could throw up and have a  
weeping breakdown without getting killed. Instead, I stumbled toward the battle, which had  
moved more into the core of the stage.   
  
Lance, Todd, and Freddy were there, as well, although they weren't exactly fighting with the fury  
of the girls. They seemed to be more concerned with staying out of the way. Todd looked faintly  
sick. I didn't see anyone who could be classified as Rafael--so I guessed he'd had to stay home  
after all. That didn't make me feel any better.  
  
By the time I limped close enough to be of any help, Scott had taken two more of his own blasts  
and wasn't walking well any more. His face was dark with exhaustion . . . and a despairing sort of  
helplessness that twisted the fear tighter in my throat. I croaked out a warning as Hargeis' hand  
snapped toward his face, but he was too tired and hurt to move away. I couldn't watch. I half  
shut my eyes and ran as best as I could toward Rogue and Jean . . . who, if nothing else, didn't  
seem ready to collapse.  
  
Two months of ferocious training and we still couldn't do a thing against Wanda. Jean was trying  
to attack her with her mind, I could tell that from the furrow of her brow, but I guess she wasn't  
strong enough of a telepath. Especially when she was frantically using her TK to keep Wanda's  
hex bolts from destroying her and Rogue.   
  
I just hung back. I felt pretty awful and I wasn't terribly effective against either Hargeis or  
Wanda. If the Brotherhood boys burst in, then maybe I'd interfere, but they still just stood there.  
  
"What's . . . what's going on here?!" A highish tenor voice echoed from the far end of the stage. I  
wasn't occupied, so I dared a glance in that voice's direction. It's owner was a small kid . . . a boy  
with black hair and brown skin and whiteless eyes that had to be Rafael, if anyone was. His  
horrified, almost betrayed expression brought a tiny surge of hope--maybe he'd be on our side.   
  
"Get out of here, Rafael!" Lance spat, stalking toward the kid. Todd and Freddy didn't move,  
uncertainty moving in their faces again.   
  
"You said . . . you said you were . . . this isn't what you said you were doing!"   
  
Lance reached out to grab Rafael . . . and abruptly tripped. He let out a howl as his ankle decided  
not to move in the same direction as he was falling.   
  
"RAFAEL! You . . . you . . . how can you . . . after all we've done for you . . ."  
  
Lance's voice descended to an anguished sputter as he clutched at his ankle, which, (and I was  
actually sorry for him) looked very broken. Rafael took a couple of steps backward, his stark  
black eyes widening with shock . . . right into Mystique.  
  
And then . . . to my right, Jean fainted. I didn't even notice her shield failing. One minute she  
was struggling with Wanda, the next, she was flat against the ground and Hargeis was pouncing  
on her.  
  
I'd had enough.  
  
I rushed at Hargeis' back, pulling every scrap of martial arts that Logan had taught me out of my  
mind. My safety wasn't important any more something big and nasty was afoot and if only I out  
of the X-men walked away tonight, it wouldn't do me any good anyway.  
  
At least, that's what I told myself as I aimed a kick right under Hargeis' shoulder blades.  
  
It was only a second later that I realized I hadn't unphased.  
  
I fell nearly a foot into the stage before I caught myself and pulled back to the surface . . . just in  
time for barbed waves of nausea to leave me half paralyzed under a curtain. I fought the  
disjointed pain, squeezing my eyes shut and clenching and unclenching my fists until I felt decent  
enough to crawl a little more out into the open.  
  
It was the entire Brotherhood against Rogue.  
  
She was backed up against the wall, both hands bare and out in front of her. "What? Ya'll too  
scared? Ah'm just one, right? Or ain't that even enough fer you?"  
  
Rafael was trying valiantly to stomp hard on Mystique's foot, but she ignored him, even when he  
connected. "Rogue. This is your last chance. I've left the door open, so to speak, for you to  
return, but you've been sluggish. My patience is at an end. You can join your X-men or you can  
escape with us. Now is not the time for heroics no one will ever see them. The X-men will  
hardly fault you for your choice. And what are the X-men to you? Priveledged, condenscending  
children who perhaps you longed to be a part of . . . but you know you never will. You belong  
with us."  
  
"Yeah." Todd muttered, half under his breath, "Yeah."  
  
I wanted to say something to Rogue, yell some sort of denial-of-everything-Mystique-just-said,  
but I didn't. Maybe it would be better for her to "join them." I trusted Rogue, I did. And maybe   
she was a bit . . . aloof, but she was a good sort and I think she liked us. And we honestly liked  
her, I mean, really . . . she knew us. But maybe, maybe if she got out of this safe and unharmed . .  
.   
  
Rogue spat in Mystique's direction. Well, that's an answer for you. I really thought that both  
Wanda and Hargeis were going to rush her at once. Instead, Mystique tightened her grip on  
Rafael's shoulders . . . and practically threw him at her. It was only a meter or so Rogue barely  
had time to flinch. Their heads collided, and Rafael promptly crumpled to the ground. Rogue  
staggered badly against the wall, her jaw already swelling a little. I watched with a sort of wan  
fascination as Rogue's pupils grew, overtaking her irises and sclera in a matter of seconds.  
  
Mystique folded her arms, actually letting Rogue recover. "Can you feel his power yet? I'm  
sorry I didn't let you absorb someone more useful."  
  
Rogue glared at her, a stony, almost soulless gaze that would have just about melted me . . . if  
there was really anything left to melt.   
  
Mystique laughed, "So? Do you want to risk it?" She nodded at Wanda and Hargeis, who finally  
leaped (although I noticed they were careful to keep their more clad portions forward).  
  
Rogue stopped them. I mean, simply stopped them, mid air. It wasn't like Jean's TK at all . . .  
neither Wanda or Hargeis stirred, at all. It was almost as if they were frozen in time or something  
Matrixy like that.   
  
But Rogue looked like she was going to die. Seriously. Every inch of bare skin (and there wasn't  
much) was practically shimmering with sweat, even in the darkness. Her veins stood out against  
her forehead and one of them burst. Blood spurted against her pale skin, trickling down the side  
of her cheekbone. A second later, red was staining one of her open palms and the fight just  
seeped out of her. She collapsed next to Rafael and Wanda and Hargeis suddenly resumed living  
(although I took some pleasure in the fact they both landed badly).  
  
And then they left. They just left us there. Todd and Freddy supported Lance and jointly hobbled  
out the door. Lance did throw one kinda guilty glance in my direction . . . but then he was gone.  
  
And there I was and there they were and I waited for the pangs to come back and finish me off.  
  
(Ooooh. Don't worry, I'm not done. It gets worse.) 


	7. AAAAUGH! MORE HORROR! Or something. Y...

I must have lost consciousness, because the next thing I knew, I was bathed in the sort of easy  
heat that I've only known the sun to give off. I didn't want to move. My muscles were stiff and  
sore and I was still a little queasy.  
  
But otherwise, I felt normal. Well, as normal as anyone could after what happened the previous  
night.  
  
I carefully rose to my hands and knees, half shutting my eyes against the relative brightness of the  
stage.   
  
Rogue was stirring. It was sort of a half hearted stir, almost a shudder, but she was stirring. I  
saw the black-red clotting on her forehead and palm, remembered, and felt a little guilty. I was a  
little ashamed of my uselessness. I hadn't really done anything except watch.   
  
I just hoped she was okay. I hoped everyone was okay.  
  
"Aaaaaaaah," she moaned, shouldering herself up against the wall. She opened her eyes and  
looked at me, then glanced sideward at the now also stirring Rafael. Then she blanched, all color  
draining from her normally too-pale face.  
  
"It's gone."  
  
"What?"   
  
"The . . . the . . ." She shook her head, trying to rephrase whatever she'd been about to say. "Ah  
. . . Ah usually have somethin' besides myself . . . in my . . . in my head with me, you  
understand? Just . . . just . . . it's gone."  
  
And I thought I understood. I stood up a little groggily, looking for the others. Scott was already  
sitting up. He was a little haggard and he kept running his hand through his hair. Continually.   
Almost in a sort of beat. His expression was almost vacant. I watched him half curiously, half  
apprehensively. He ran his hand through his hair one more time . . . then quickly changed  
direction and yanked off his visor.   
  
His eyes were wide open and nothing happened.  
  
Scott leapt to his feet and rushed at the squinting Rafael. He didn't grab him, he just skidded to a  
stop inches from the smaller boy, folding his arms. I knew he was trying to keep himself under  
control he was very flushed and his legs were trembling unsteadily. "You know, don't you?   
You know what's been done to us . . ."  
  
"And me," Rafael shot in, staring back at Scott with his perfectly normal eyes, "And . . . and . . .  
it should wear off. Hargeis . . . what she doesn't isn't permenant, any more than Rogue . . . any  
more than . . ." He broke off, his gaze shifting to the ground. "It shouldn't be, anyway. I wasn't  
part of this. I don't know. I don't know."  
  
"So, what . . . she remove our powers or something?" Rogue hissed, scraping the scabs off her  
"wounds" only to reveal pale, unmarred skin beneath.  
  
"Not . . . exactly. It's complicated. I . . . I'd have to write it down. I can't explain it otherwise."   
He seemed on the verge of tears. Well, so was everyone.  
  
Evan and Jean came crawling from opposite ends of the stage, their expressions rather  
despondant, to say the least. I carefully probed at my own awareness of my power . . . and it was  
still there. But I wasn't going to say anything just yet.  
  
Oh wait . . .   
  
"Kurt. Where is he?"  
  
It didn't take long to find him. He hadn't moved. He seemed to be having a little trouble in that  
area. He was half sprawled in a sitting position, still trying to figure out what the rest of us had  
mastered back in those merry years of infancy.  
  
"Ach, deed you haf to come over here? I'm not ready." Kurt actually blushed, tugging nervously  
at a strand of red (red??) hair. His uniform fit very badly, especially around his trunk, and he was  
possibly skinnier than before.  
  
In short, Kurt Wagner was no longer much of a fuzzy elf. 


End file.
